


Distasteful Profession

by Rea_Micheal



Category: Dexter (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, OTP Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rea_Micheal/pseuds/Rea_Micheal
Summary: John is a new officer in the London Homicide unit. He's teamed up with a very eccentric Blood Spatter Analyst in forensics named Sherlock. They're working together to find who killed Mary Morstan and many others and the truth will have John speechless.





	1. Fancy some death, would ya'?

"Officer Watson; Homicide. What do we have here?" John asked, showing his badge to another cop who was letting people through.

"A murder, obviously." Said a much taller man as he strolled right through, his black Trench coat flowing only a moment in his wake. John furrowed his eyebrows, and tried to walk after the man to demand ID, but he man allowing people to enter grabbed his shoulder and shook his head. "Right, well, who was that?" John asked, the man's harsh statement nagging in his mind. "William Holmes. He works in Forensics. He's the blood spatter analyst." The man explained. John nodded, half understanding. "How come he gets to walk through whenever he likes?" John asked, gesturing the paths the man passed through. "The man's insane." A woman said, passing by John's earshot. John turned around to see a black woman with Afro-like hair and in a pantsuit. "Theory's going around that he's killing these people, but we don't have any evidence of it. He's a psychopath. I'd stay away from him if I were you," She warned. John only but scoffed and went to the crime scene. William was there, setting up his camera.

"How do you think it happened?"John asked, placing his hands i his pockets. "He had an affair with a cop, which his partner, do to their bad background, didn't like. They grabbed the gun and shot him. Once they realized what they'd done, they went to the nearest hood and got shot there." He said, gesturing to everywhere in the space the suspect went. "How do you know they were a cop?" John asked, scratching his head. William scoffed. "Ugh, l matched up the serial number and ran the registration on the murder weapon. Finger prints don't match the cop so we have to assume that whoever's fingerprints are on the gun, is the murderer." He said, looking rather tired of having to explain the details of the scene. "But, isn't that the murder weapon, there?" John asked, gesturing to the gun on the ground. "Indeed," William confirmed. "How did you 'Match it up' if it's not even in evidence?" John asked, looking skeptically at the tall, pale man. "John, I can't really explain it to you, and not going to do it for anyone else, but my brain is like a hard drive that I can either delete or store my information in. Whatever helps with the job," He said. William went back to taking pictures when John muttered, "Amasing," under his breath. William froze, slowly turning to John.

John held out his hand for William to shake. "John Watson, you are William, I was told..?" William rolled his eyes and let a groan out of his throat. "Technically, yes. My first name is William, but I go by Sherlock. So, please," He said, giving the death glare to the man letting people through, who simply smiled and waved devilishly. "Stay away from Anderson," Sherlock said, "He's a simpleton." John looked back from Anderson to Sherlock, who had already began walking to the Detective Inspector, Greg Lestrade.

"John Watson, was it? How's your first case since you've been back?" Greg asked. Sherlock's eyes widened then he chuckled as if he forgot something. "That's what I meant to ask," Sherlock recalled with a sigh, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asked, making John a bit nervous. "Uh, p-pardon..?" John stuttered. "Never mind, it doesn't bother me any. What did you see in there, John?" Sherlock asked. Greg looked at the two of them strangely. "Since when were you two on first name basis..?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips. "Since when is Anderson allowed to give first names to newbies?" Sherlock retaliated, copying Greg's actions by placing his hands on his hips. Greg sighed and walked over to Anderson. After a pretty heated conversation between those two, the woman who warned John about Sherlock before, ran up to Greg and whispered something to him. He then told Anderson, and the three of them began jogging to their police cars. 

John did his best to catch up with them and asked them what it was about. "We got a dead body in an alleyway, bad part of town." Greg said getting into his car. John slowed to a halt. He looked back to Sherlock, who was simply smirking. He walked with a confident stride that John swore, not even the noblest of soldiers could have. John knew; he was a soldier. Fought in The Afghanistan War, which is why he was so skeptical when Sherlock gave him an option of Afghanistan or Iraq.

"This is the murderer, then?" John asked as he stood next to Sherlock as he, himself was taking mental notes and pictures of the crime scene. "Yes, which, undoubtedly makes my job a lot harder," Sherlock said with a frown. "How hard can your job be? Gotta take photographs, do a report, sample and match DNA, and most of it is in this mind computer of yours..." John scoffed. "Mind Palace, John. And, I have, unfortunately, family to attend to, as well. So, as much as I would like, I can't possibly live at my work station. Although, that would be rather inefficient of me.." Sherlock said, rambling on a shade too long for John's liking. It was pointless chatter to the both of them. "So... You got kids?" John asked. "I wasn't aware we went onto such a topic of conversation," Sherlock said, looking at the picture he had previously taken, before making a face, as if telling himself that it wasn't good enough. "You said you have a family to attend to at home, so I kind of thought..." John trailed off, assuming that Sherlock wasn't paying attention. "I have a kid," John said, almost so suddenly that it could've startled Sherlock for a moment, "One kid. Rosie, Named after her mother, Mary." This caught Sherlock's attention as he furrowed his eyebrows and looked at John. "She changed her name to hide from her old life..." John summarized, to which Sherlock nodded in response. "What, was she a criminal...?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't think I really want to." He said. Sherlock half-shrugged as he took another picture. John noticed something and huddled closer to Sherlock.

"Wait. I've seen that before..!" John said, pointing to a mark on the victim's neck. "Smile in Red killer. Holy crap, I've only ever read about his 'Work,' but I can't believe I'm actually working on one of his cases...!" John seemed, excited. "That's what their calling him? Rather dull, if you ask me." Sherlock groaned as he approved a picture he took and moved onto another section of the victim's body. "When you find out his name, then I'll call him by it." John chuckled as he patted Sherlock on the back and stepped back, giving the man holding the camera some space to work.

Back at the station and the force was listing the names of those who they wanted on the case. "... Officer John Watson, and Blood Spatter Analyst William Holmes..." were the last two names said in the group. John was excited to finally have something to work on, but Sherlock, on the other hand, groaned and slammed his face into his desk. A minute or so later, someone was about to tap him on the shoulder to give him a file, when he quickly lifted his head, removed some kind paper weight, placed the file on top, and put the paper weight back onto the pile. He smiled as the woman scurried off with fear and shyness on her face.

John settled into his new desk, which was across the room from the Blood Spatter Analysts offices that Sherlock had claimed as one bigger office for his work. John opened his laptop and began to read up on 'Smile in Red's' different unsolved cases. Time flew by faster and by the end of the day, John had notes upon notes written up on this guy, and he was plenty fatigued. He decided to spare the babysitter a half an hour and call her saying he was coming home within 20 minutes if nothing popped up. He never made any promises, since Smile in Red could leave another body at any time.

"Why are you working so hard on this lousy case, John?" A familiar voice asked. John jumped, looking up to see Sherlock looming above him. "Others might get killed," He said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as if yelling at John for lying. "I already know why, but I want to hear you say it. Why are you working on such a dead end case?" He asked again, tone deepening in his voice as he pulled a chair from an empty desk and sat down, putting his shoulder bag on the ground.

"That man, he killed my wife. The woman I loved is now in the ground with one of these," John started shakily, going through a couple of papers until he aggressively held up a paper with a picture of a few victims' necks, gesturing directly to the signature smiley face in blood in the picture, "on her neck, Sherlock. I don't know what she did back when she was a criminal. I don't know if she deserved what she got, or what, but I know for a damn fact, that Rosie and I didn't deserve this. So, pray tell, Mr. Holmes," John said after breathing in heavily to calm himself, "Is it really so bad for me to want to get to the bottom of my wife's murder?" He asked, finally placing the papers back on the desk. John ran a hand through his hair, as he sighed. "Listen," Sherlock said, "I'm. It going to pretend to know how it feels, because I don't. Frankly, I cant feel at all. You're going to end up working yourself to death, and that's not good for me, because you're my only ally now. So, get home to Rosie, coddle her up, nice and cozy, and make her feel safe. For the both of you.." Sherlock said, almost with the slightest bit of emotion.

John looked at his work space and realized how impulsive he was acting on the subject. "You're right, Sherlock. I should be comforting my daughter, not trying to get myself killed, too."He agreed quietly. John stood up and put his laptop in his bag. He turned off the desk light and put his wind breaker on. John decided to walk out with Sherlock.

"My car's right over there, if you don't have a ride..." John offered. "Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked as he stopped walking. John turned around to look at Sherlock, a confused look twisted on his features. "Being all friendly towards me... You don't even know me," He said. John fully turned to look at Sherlock. "I do it because I know how it feels, to be undermined every second in my life. Mary never made me feel like I wasn't good enough. She made me feel as though I belonged. Then, she died," John explained with a faint smile until he mentioned her death.

Almost suddenly, spots of rain poured from the sky. Neither of the two broke eye contact. "You'll catch a cold," John said. "So will you," Sherlock said. John eyed Sherlock up and down. "Would you like a ride?" John asked, gesturing to his little car behind him. "When you put it like that, sure." Sherlock agreed, but only if John would have a quick cup of tea and talk. About what, John hadn't the slightest idea what. "Alright, but really quick, 'kay? Can't torture the babysitter too long..!" John said with a chuckle.


	2. Unwanted Company

Sherlock made a tea arrangement with John as he was driving Sherlock home. They pulled up to Sherlock's flat and turned the engine off after putting it in Park. The two had gotten out of John's car and Sherlock led the way into his flat. The two men went up the stairs and into the newly discovered mess that was Sherlock's flat.

"Wow, you really need to..." John said, trailing off. "Rent the other bedroom," Sherlock interrupted, "Clean it up," John finished, giving Sherlock a look. "How much are you renting for?" John asked, cocking a brow to the taller man. "Why? Are you interested?" Sherlock stepped toward John with a somewhat cocky grin on his face. "Depends on how much your charging..." John said, sizing Sherlock up. They both chuckle as they stand down and relax their momentarily puffed out chests. "I'll get the kettle warmed," Sherlock said, passing John, lingering his hand on John's shoulder as he made his way to the messy kitchen. "MRS. HUDSON!!"

John put a nearby pillow on one of the two armchairs that he thought suited him. A few moments later, someone walked back in, carrying a tray with tea and scones. She placed the cup on John's side table after smiling sweetly down at him. John smiled and nodded his thanks. "Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper," She said, her voice weak and somewhat shaking with her growing age. "I appreciate it," John said politely. "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said as he hurried to the black armchair.

"I don't know wat you've done to him, but can you continue to do that?" She asked. "I only drove him home..." John muttered. "That'll do it. I hope you accept," She said sweetly, before being dismissed by Sherlock.

"Only 200 Quid a month," Sherlock said. John whipped his head around with a surprised look on his face. "Only 200 Quid a month?!" He repeated. "It appears there is an echo in the room; Yes, John, only 200 Quid," Sherlock said, clearing his throat. "Although," Sherlock said before John could mutter a response, "I don't fancy public shopping centres. I would require you to pick up the essentials; Groceries, materials, equipment." Sherlock finished, crossing his legs and steeping his hands together right under his chin. "And, I play the violin, sometimes in the middle of the night."

John frowned at this. "I have a kid. She won't be able to sleep, then." Sherlock frowned as well. "Well, what if I only play when she's awake during the night? I'm sure I can compose a lullaby, of sorts," Sherlock bargained. "And, when ever you're home and I'm not, you have to watch her?" John added, stretching the deal. "Risky, but... You've got yourself a deal!" Sherlock held out his and for John to shake.

John reached his hand out, but hesitated as they were inches away from sealing the deal. "One last thing..." John muttered. "Child protection Services have been in our lives ever since Mary died, so they will need a lot of paperwork and drug tests, to make sure Rosie's not in any danger, but I'm sure that won't be a problem for someone like you." John smirked as he grabbed Sherlock's hand. Sherlock pulled away from John's hand, with an immense frown on his face. "When will those be required, exactly?" Sherlock asked lowly. John frowned almost immediately. "You-?" John started, "Shut up," "Really-?" "Shut up," Sherlock insisted. Sherlock quickly stood and began tapping his fingers against his pant leg.

"Look," John said calmly, "I can get you out of them. However, you need to at least be clean around Rosie. The first sign of you using around my daughter, and we're gone!" John promised. Sherlock quickly turned on his heel, and took John's hand in his own to shake. This startled John, but he smiled and shook Sherlock's hand in agreement.

They continued to talk as they sipped their tea, but John soon got a text from the babysitter. "Bloody hell," John said, standing up, putting his tea on the table best to the armchair, "I have to go. Uhh, h-here...!" John grabbed a marker from a nearby stack of papers and walked up to Sherlock, grabbing his arm. He sloppily scribbled his number on Sherlock's skin, then rushed out of the flat with a simple yet perfect kind of wave over his shoulder.

Even though Sherlock knew John had left, he still waved goodbye to the empty doorway. Sherlock snapped out of it and raced over to look out the window. John's car was already gone. Sherlock sighed as his forehead met with the pain of glass that separated Sherlock from the cold, wet, raining environment always kept from the inside of Sherlock's flat.

"Oh, my, Sherlock. He was nice all right." Mrs. Hudson said as she came to cleanup the cups. "He got you to use manners for once," She said as if he never used his manners. "She said he had that effect on people..." Sherlock muttered as he snapped out of his gaze, jerking his head up and whipping it around to make shoo Mrs. Hudson our of his flat, closing the front door as he did as such.

He took the knife from the mantle, searching from the piles upon piles of files, cases, and paperwork documents. He found a CD disk near the bottom of the stack. The words on the DVD said, 'Miss Me?' He popped it into the player, and watched it as he took down the notes Mary had ironically left behind about her widowed beloved and motherless daughter with a resembling name.

She'd send him one every other week. An update of how life was going, how her new life is, her drama, theatrical, sad, funny stories about the neighborhood, the kids acting like they were on crack, and the dogs that probably had rabies. Sherlock put in the one right before she'd left. The night before, in fact.

"And, please. Put that smile on 'my' neck, when I go." She said before the video cut out, leaving off with John walking into the room holding their child, asking what she was doing.

Sherlock made his way to his bed, and flopped himself onto the mattress and just lied there. His mind was racing to fast. "It'll just go cold once more. Yeah, John mustn't find out," Sherlock muttered as he managed to keep his mind slow enough to get some well deserved sleep.

Sherlock woke to someone banging on his door. He rolled over and squeezed a nearby pillow over his ears. The banging continued on. Sherlock finally dragged himself out of the comfort of his bed to bound to the door, opening it with frustration and yelled at whoever was on the other end.

"Shut up!!" He opened his eyes to see a taller man, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Mycroft..." Sherlock nodded, then tried to slam the door in his face. "You know what happens tomorrow, don't you?" The man asked, sticking his umbrella in the door, keeping Sherlock from slamming the door that separated them. "Yes, and I'll go, if I can get dressed." He said loudly.

Sherlock walked out to the common room to see Mycroft sitting in the chair that John sat in. Sherlock wanted to tell him to get up and reserve the seat, but he knew it was only the two brothers. "Someone else was here?" Mycroft asked, cocking his eyebrow. "What the hell does it even matter to you?" Sherlock snapped back with a harshness to let Mycroft know he wasn't hunting the person.

"Well, nonetheless. She's waiting, brother mine. Grab your violin and let's head over." Mycroft said, trying to get out of the flat as soon as possible. "I have a job, you know. And, I can't just go calling out whenever she needs to see me. What happens when she'll need me tomorrow and won't be able to have me visit? Kill someone else? Get locked down again?" Sherlock asked sitting in his armchair, still eyeing up Mycroft as he was still in John's.

"Oh. It's you," Mrs. Hudson muttered from the doorway. Mycroft rolled his eyes before looking over and smiling sarcastically. "Sherlock, your lovely friend has come to give you a lift to work." She said. John appeared from behind her, hands folded neatly behind his back and legs at shoulder width apart. "Fall out, soldier." Mycroft said with a smirk. John narrowed his eyes before taking a step backwards, only to move forward into the flat.

"Come on, Sherlock, we'll be late." John warned, sitting on the couch. Mycroft looked at Sherlock as if his choice would depend on the fate of their brotherhood. "I'll visit during break. Now, go elsewhere with that annoying umbrella, damn it!" Sherlock said as he stood up and left the flat. "Has he always been like that?" John asked, making his presence apparent. "Ever since he found out he couldn't be a Pirate," Mycroft said, his voice having a softer effect to it then what it had earlier been. "Go on, drive Sherlock to work." Mycroft said, waving John off. John gave him a suspicious look. "You first," He said.

Mycroft complied, giving him a false sense of dominance over the situation, and stood up. He walked out of the block of flats in front of John.

John got into the car and strapped his seatbelt. "Sorry, Princess. We'll get you to Julie's in no time." John promised, looking into the rear view mirror to see Rosie in the back seat, strapped in her car seat. Sherlock looked over his shoulder and back to John. "You brought her here?" Sherlock questioned. "One, she's going to be living here soon. Two, your flat was on the way to work. Three, the babysitter's car broke down last minute and she can't hail a cabby, so Rosie's going over there." John explained. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "We'll be late." He quoted John's words from in the flat. "Maybe if we stop for coffee," John chuckled. "You lied?" Sherlock questioned. "Only to get hat guy out. I don't feel right about him," John tensed his grip around the wheel. "Mycroft? Well, he does try to mean well, but he often comes off as," Sherlock paused to find the right word to describe his brother, "like Lestrade." At the same time, John found his own adjective, "Annoying?" Sherlock chuckled, "What's the difference?" John laughed at this. Rosie also let out a laugh, as if she knew what the joke was.

"Ba-Ba," Rosie babbled. John looked up. "Yes, Rose garden?" John asked cutely. He scrunched his face in a smile and she did the same. "Who came up with that? Rose garden?" Sherlock asked softly. "I did," John said with a sigh.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, taking another, longer look at He child. He unbuckled his seat belt and reached back to pull the collar of her dress down a bit. "That's not mine," Sherlock muttered, looking upon a smiling carving on the collarbones of the pale skin the child was blessed to be given. "I didn't do that," he whispered, "Who did?" He asked, sitting back in his seat, slowly clicking the belt around him again. "Smile in Red. That's why I want to move in. At least, now there's more than likely going to be someone always watching her. He's not done with her yet. I'm afraid, he might get to her," John said, again becoming tense and cautious of his words. The car parked in front of a different block of flats. John unbuckled himself from the seat. Sherlock knew he still had it in his mind.

Distract him from the problem at hand. Distractions! Uhh..! Sherlock was panicked to find a way to get John to stop being cautious. He might catch on. So, for a distraction, he reached over and grabbed John's face. He pulled John in for some collateral damage, their lips connected and it was like nothing Sherlock has experienced before. There was collateral damage, alright. As John gently pushed away, as their lips were torn from each other, Sherlock felt broken. His hard drive was fried and crashing. He couldn't think straight. Sherlock seldom wanted think of anything else.

"John, I promise, I won't let anyone hurt Rosie." He said sternly, his hands still on John's cheeks, not letting him leave yet. John looked down, as if shy, ashamed, afraid. Sherlock frowned. "I have to go drop off Rosie..."


	3. East Wind Coming

John got out of the car and opened the back door to pluck Rosie from her seat. He took his time walking up to Julie's flat and talking to her. He didn't want to confront Sherlock for what he'd done, nor himself for wanting it to happen again.

After a pain steakingly silent drive to the precinct, John settled in his spot and Sherlock in his. He had a few piles of paperwork done by the time Sherlock was pulled away from his station, quite literally. Mycroft, the sketchy guy from the flat, walked in and grabbed Sherlock by the ear, grumbling things to him. But, John not dare intervene. He couldn't. He just watched as the rest of the building continued with life as if he man hadn't just burst through the doors shouting Sherlock's name, finding him hiding under his desk and physically dragging him out of the building, probably cursing him out. 

"Right, what was that about?" John asked, tapping Anderson on the shoulder. "Freak's brother. He usually comes once every other week. But, something must be wrong. He's been pulled out twice this week. Give me the creeps, both of them." Anderson explained then groaned. John nodded and looked out of the window. 

John was packing up for the day, and still no sign of Sherlock. John walked over to the forensics tables and picked up files. The ones most recent were the only ones he looked at. He didn't even look at the whole thing, he kept Sherlock's privacy in mind. John put Sherlock's things in the back of his car, picked up Rosie, dropped her off with Mrs. Hudson when he dropped Sherlock's things off. John made trips to get Rosie's crib, nappies, clothes, food, bottles first; the essentials for her. 

John then, laid her down to sleep. She fell asleep almost right away. "Julie did say she didn't have a nap," John muttered as he walked out the door to leave Mrs. Hudson guarding the flat and his baby. John picked up mostly everything from his house, which was mostly emptied out after Mary died. He felt so lonely in the big house with no other adult to talk to and have them understand what he was saying. It was a pain living there by himself. He hated his lonely life in that house. Just being in it made him feel depressed. 

By the time John had finally moved everything out, he calls the couple he'd sold it to, to let them know they can move in now, which they thanked him and assured him they'd be there the next morning. John sighed, lingering in the house. He'd finally found a place to move on, so why did he feel empty? Maybe, he always thought that the three of them would be moving out together. John, Mary, and their little Rose Garden. 

John recalled first getting married. Kicking in the front door, keeping his wife in his arms, her lips lingered on his lips, it felt like. Her scent still stuck in the atmosphere. He'd recalled the exact place Mary was when she first thought she was pregnant. He exact spot John passed out after finding out she really was pregnant. John could point out every throw up stain on every carpet, hardwood floor, door, wall, and even window there was possible during her pregnancy. He remembered rushing to the hospital with Mary after she broke her water trying to put a plate on the top shelf in the kitchen. He remembered holding Rosie as she got her first glimpse at her supposed 'forever home,' as if she were a newly adopted pup. John remembered getting that dreadful call from the recruiter, saying he'd had to go and serve his duty again. He remembered wearing his uniform, hugging his wife and his daughter before leaving them behind for six months. He wasn't even adjusted to having a child and he was already pulled away. He remembered how he came back, full on mustache comes hair, he looked like a new person. He chuckled at the memory of Mary refusing to kiss him until he'd shaved it off. He recalled Rosie's first tooth, her first laugh, her first babble. He could name anything he had done in this house from the time Mary and him got married, to now.

John's heart tightened at the thought of her being gone, leaving him to figure out Rosie on his own. Then, again, he wasn't completely alone, was he? Sherlock's there to help him out, but how long will it stay innocent? How long before John gives in to his dark passenger, the voices telling him that he needs someone else in his life. Before John looks at Sherlock as a lover instead of a flat mate?

John shook his head to forget about it as he hauled the last of the boxes into he car, shut the door, and left the keys under the mat. John got into his car and looked back on the house. He couldn't just leave it. It was a part of him. John quickly got out of the car and, as strange as it may sound, he kissed his two fingers and placed them gently on the siding of the house's wall. "Thank you, for always being there, for me to come home to." John muttered as he finally felt peace. He walked toward his car again, not feeling the need to turn back any more. He drove home as fast as he could, and as he brought the last box up and opened it, he'd noticed Sherlock was playing violin by the window. "Oh, hello, Sherlock," John greeted, only glancing up to the long, lean figure that must not've been paying any mind to his surroundings, because he jumped. Sherlock turned around. "John, hello. Mrs. Hudson went to bed. You were out late..." He said, a bit of a questioning look crossed his face, but only for a moment. John was still packing when Sherlock put his Violin and Bow down on the couch and walked over to him, grabbing his hands from inside the boxes. "Are you okay?" He asked, but his face said, 'No matter what you say, I'll know when you're lying,'

John quickly took his hands from Sherlock's and shouted, "No, I'm not! It's not okay!" Before he looked up to see Sherlock's surprised face. John put his face in his hand, holding his arm with the other. Sherlock slowly walked over and wrapped his arms around John, not knowing what else to do. He lowered his face to John's hair and planted an innocent, comforting kiss. "No, but it is what it is," Sherlock said, stroking John's hair and back with his hands.

John softly pushed himself out of Sherlock's arms and went to the kitchen to make a cuppa. Sherlock smiled as John handed him a cup. "Thank you, John." Sherlock said, blowing on he steaming hot liquid. John smiled, "No problem. It's the least I could do, really."

Sherlock remembered that he had to do something tomorrow. "Hey, John. I won't be at work tomorrow, so don't wait up in the morning." He did, placing his tea back onto the saucer. "What are you doing tomorrow?" John asked after taking another sip. "My sister, I have to help her move." Sherlock sighed, as if he could be doing something much better with his life, which he could. "What If I help? Could I help?" John offered, hopeful to get to know a sane part of his family, hopefully. 

"If you don't mind danger," Sherlock warned, John only seemed to be encouraged by his earning, though. "Bring it on," John said with a confident grin as if he were the king of the world. Sherlock didn't want to knock him down, not one peg. 

"Well, good night, John." Sherlock said quickly, almost rushing to his room. John had guessed it was to avoid awkward tenseness. He sighed. Sherlock sure was a strange one. "I think I may learn to like him," John muttered to himself, then chuckled. He continued to unpack, and set the boxes aside for tomorrow when they'd help Sherlock's sister with moving out. When John felt tired enough, he'd set up a blanket or two on his armchair and went to sleep comfortably next to Rosie's crib. Lucky for John, Rosie hadn't cried at all during the duration of the night. 

He, however, woke up in a bed, with real blankets, cuddling his daughter and something cuddling the both of them. "Sherlock?" John guessed. "Hmmm...?" Sherlock groaned, his voice so gruff and tired, it sounded like a different person. "What am I doing in here?" John asked, rubbing his eyes. "Sleeping, obviously. Do keep up, John,"


	4. Drama Queen Family.

John had cleaned off the kitchen table and counter. He began to cook eggs and a couple strips of bacon. Meanwhile, Rosie's breakfast was being stirred with his other hand. Sherlock soon cam wandering out of his room with Rosie in his arms. He smiled.

"'S that Daddy? Let's go see what he's up to, hm?" Sherlock said, slightly tickling at Rosie's tummy. He almost seemed human as he walked up behind John and looked over his shoulder to the eggs. "Looks delicious, John." Sherlock said as he hugged John with Rosie. "Good Morning, you two. Ready for breakfast?" John asked, flipping the last egg onto the plate. John turned off the stove top and brought the two plates to the table. Sherlock dragged the high chair over and strapped Rosie to it. John asked Sherlock to bring him Rosie's breakfast, which was on the counter. "Thanks," Said John as he turned to Rosie, who was bouncing in her seat from excitement. Sherlock chuckled, "Someone's hungry." as he plucked the eggs and bacon from the plates.

By 08.30, Rosie was getting a bath and getting ready to go to Julie's for the day. Sherlock was texting Mycroft to tell him John was insisting on helping them move their sister. John drove Rosie over to Julie's flat and when he got back, he called out for a vacation day.

Mycroft called Sherlock to tell him he was there. They went to the rooftop, due to Sherlock insisting Mycroft doesn't travel by car and there lowered a helicopter. "Holy Sherlock . How much does your brother have?" John asked, covering his face with his arm. Sherlock put his arm around John's waist and pulled him close as he jumped to the step of the latter that was thrown down to him. "This is dangerous!" John shouted over the loud noise of the helicopter's rotors cutting through the air like knives. "I warned you!" Sherlock shouted back.

They were pulled up into the helicopter to sit in actual seats. Mycroft was sitting in one of them. The one across from Sherlock, actually. John took his seat next to Sherlock, leaning to him, away from the door. "Was that completely necessary?" John asked, his voice trembling with fear. Sherlock put his arm around John to comfort him. Mycroft paused, then cleared his throat. "Was you accompanying us completely necessary?" He asked. Sherlock gave him a look as he kicked and scuffed up Mycroft's shoes. "All I'm saying is, shouldn't you be more concerned about unac-" Mycroft stared until Sherlock quickly jabbed his shoe into Mycroft's leg again. Sherlock gave him another urgent look.

John put his head down to avoid the fact that he had a massive fear of heights due to his time In serving the military. Sherlock Gelage John's shoulder a slight squeeze in an attempt at comfort him. Sherlock had told his brother not to talk at all during he trip beforehand and those kicks were just to remind him of Sherlock's conditions of coming with. Sherlock looked and saw he got a text from Mycroft.

"So, is he your new Boyfriend?"  
"New? More like my first and I don't even know what we are yet,"   
"Well, He is married,"   
"Well, he's convinced he's widowed,"

John was beginning to relax his tenseness. Sherlock turned to smile when he found John's eyes closed. Sherlock texted Mycroft,

"This is our second time cuddling."  
"You're a killer, Sherlock. Killers don't cuddle,"  
"Killers also tend to not have a full time job at a police precinct,"

"John, we're here," Sherlock whispered sweetly as he placed a quick kiss onto John's forehead. John's eyes slowly opened as Sherlock began to stand, taking away the warmth and support of his body.

"Ugh! Father, ptsd, supposedly widowed, police , one sister, mum and dad died at a young age. Not very close with people, I see. Hello, John. I'm Euros. Sherlock's older sister and Mycroft's younger," Euros greeted John with a full on verbal biography. "Yes, well. He's not your toy, Euros!" Sherlock snapped, steering John away from Euros's unusual greeting. "Yes, of course. Wouldn't want to take what's yours, big brother." She said, smiling. "Dad is packing the last box. All we'll need to do is my be it and help me control the impulses of my homicidal tendencies,"

John gave a concerned look as Sherlock hugged her and said, "I'm proud of you and I'm here if you need anything," she smiled as they parted. John looked at then, slightly uncomfortably. "Right. Well, let's help Dad move things." Mycroft said. "Let's go, John," Mycroft placed a hand on John's back, leading him into the complex building, away from Sherlock. "My little brother likes you a lot," Mycroft said, only glancing at him. John looked up at Mycroft and slowed his steps to a halt. "So, you're going to threaten me that if I hurt his feelings, you'll hurt me?" John scoffed as he crossed his arms. "Knowing that Sherlock rarely has feelings, yes. It goes along that line."

"What do you even do? For a living, I mean?" John asked, planting his hands on his hips. "Nothing that important, really," Mycroft assured. "He is the British Government. When he's not too busy being the FBI or the Secret Service." Sherlock startled John with his sudden appearance. John turned quickly, startled even more by Sherlock's close proximity. John stumbled back, holding his breath for a moment. Once John gained his balance, he muttered curse words under his breath and stuck close to Sherlock as they went to Euros's 'living space'

"It's a cage," John said, staring at the glass cell in astonishment, "You kept your sister in a glass cage?" Sherlock stepped into the area, the walls completely gone by now. He grabbed the pillow on the bed and carried it under his arm. John followed, grabbing a different box. Carrying it up to his chest, he walked diagonally to not trip on anything. Mycroft didn't do much, which kind of made John mad. Sherlock noticed, but didn't know how to address the situation.

Sherlock's Dad caught up with John on the hallway. "My son seems to be taking a fancy to you, just a shade," he said with a smile. John only shrugged his shoulders as if to brush it off as nothing. "You don't fancy him, then?" The older man asked, raising a brow. "I'm not saying that. It's just, I need time." John said, placing the box into the back of a car. Sherlock's father followed suit. Euros walked up to the two men. "Where's mummy?" She asked. "She slept in; I decided to go and let her sleep." He said. "Awe, Sherlock will be broken up about it. Have you told him?" She asked, tilting her head to the right.

John decided to commute in the same car as Euros, instead of the Helicopter with Mycroft. Sherlock's father drove as Euros dat in the front passenger seat and Sherlock sat in the back, directly next to John. Upon not having Mycroft watching them with very judgmental eyes, Sherlock saw this as an opportunity for him to find out where he stood with John.

Sherlock shifted his hand from his lap, where it had been folded neatly with the other one, to beside his left leg, resting itself silently onto the seat. John hadn't noticed anything until he felt the side of Sherlock's hand nudging his. John looked up at Sherlock, but he was looking out the window, a slight pink tint to his pale features. John lightly smiled as he slowly and gently covered Sherlock's hand with his own. Sherlock was slightly surprised at John's reaction. He looked to John, who was still gazing upon his facial features. John's eyes slightly widened as he quickly turned his head to look out the window, using the same technique to avoid Sherlock seeing his face lit up with a pink flame to his already slightly darker tone as Sherlock had. Sherlock looked out the window once more. John slowly began to stroke his thumb on the back of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock was flustered by He time they reached Euros's new flat. He couldn't look at John without blushing and wanting to hug him and make these strange squealing noises that made him not be able to breathe. Sherlock must've been sick. Yes, there was something in John's eggs and bacon that made him sick. Then again, if he told John about his suspicions, John might not cook for him. Just the thought made him feel a shade bit saddened.

They got done moving Euros's stuff into her flat around 17.30, so Sherlock thought to ask if John wanted to go out for dinner. "So we don't have to get Rosie 'till later. I mean, if you don't want too, we could just get take away." Sherlock said nervously. Sherlock seldom was nervous about asking someone to accompany him to a meal. John hesitated, but nodded. "I guess since we have time to spare," He said. Sherlock's heart leapt at his answer.


	5. Interrupted Terapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I'm just copying and pasting this from my Wattpad. That's like, all I have to do, so I'm very lazy rn. lol
> 
> rest assured, however, for this is my work, it is just being transferred by me, from my Wattpad, where it has gotten 4.9k reads, 180 votes, and 175 comments. I'm only bragging because, technically, it's the first story of mine that's become this big, and right now, even, as I sit in German II, finished my movie project, I'm looking on here and am astonished as to what the numbers are here! It's amasing to thing that I created something that people actually like to read. It fills me with pride and I want to say, Thank you. 
> 
> Alright, back to my public persona: 'Ha, puffs reading gay shit! lol ur mom gay & ur dad lesbian.'

The dinner went nice. Sherlock was nervous, which seemed out of character. The first time John met Sherlock, he held himself a shade like Mycroft, which explains a lot.

John remembered he had a therapy appointment at 19.00. They finished dinner and went to pick up Rosie. John dropped the both of them off in front of the building. Sherlock unbuckled and carried Rosie out of her seat and up to the flat she'd soon call home. John made sure they got up safely. He drove off to the therapy office and had to wait in the waiting room.

He walked into the office and was half surprised to see, "Euros?!" John asked as he slowly closed the door. "Hello, John." She said. "I know you're not my therapist," John said, sitting in the armchair across from her cautiously. She nodded. "She's in the closet, both metaphorically and physically... I tied her up," She said quickly. "John, don't tell Sherlock about any of this!" She shouted. John threw his hands up in defense. "I need to inform you of this in advance," She said, standing up and slowly walking to John's chair. She placed a hand right beside John's head and rested a leg on either side of John's.

"What are you doing?" Euros asked as John was uncomfortably leaning into his chair to avoid her. "You're Sherlock's big sister. Stop it," He said as he gingerly pushed her off and away. John stood up and walked up to the closet. Euros stood in front of him, blocking the doorway. "His mum; our mum, she's dying," John stopped in his tracks.

"What do you mean, she's dying?" He asked, staring intensely at her, but she didn't budge. "I suggest you let me take care of her, you get Sherlock and your little Rose Garden, and drive up to Saint Bartholomew's Hospital to visit her before they call him tomorrow saying that she went the night before." She suggested sternly. John's eyes slightly widened. "Alright, but if I see the therapist's name in a murder report, the first suspect will be you." He said as he turned to run out of the room. He pulled out his phone and texted Sherlock, whose number he got from Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock, it's John. You wanna go take a ride with Rosie and I?"  
"Hello, John. What happened to therapy?"   
"She has a crisis she had to deal with. So?"   
"Yes, I would enjoy that. Where will we be going?"   
"You'll deduce it later,"

John shut the car off and looked over to Sherlock. "This isn't where I had anticipated we'd go." Sherlock said, looking to John. "Let's Go; She should be texting me the room," John muttered, exiting the car and opening the door for Rosie to be released from the back seat. "John, what is this about? Are you taking a case without me?" Sherlock asked, sitting in the car. Without looking to him, "No, idiot," John said, "you'll regret it if you don't come, and I don't want to see you broken-hearted, Sherlock."

Locating the room via Euros texting him, john led Sherlock through the hospital hallways. When John approached the door, he handed Rosie to Sherlock and entered first, shutting the door.  
"Hello? Who are you?" She asked, not recognizing John's face. John took a deep breath and said, "I'm your youngest son's boyfriend, ma'am. He's outside and I thought he'd like to see you." Her eyes watered and she half her arms open for John to hug her. "I'm very happy to know that Sherlock's finally found someone," She said sweetly. "As am I," John Said, chuckling. "Can I see him, please?" She asked, tears flowing down her face. John nodded and walked to the door. He opened it to show Sherlock holding Rosie, bouncing her up and down on his hip, singing lowly to a song in his head. He turned to the door and his eyes widened as he stopped in his tracks. He rushed into the room, handing Rosie to John as he passed through. Sherlock sloppily sat in the bed side hospital chair and took his mother's hands in his own. They talked for a bit and they laughed and cried and Sherlock introduced her to Rosie. She was delighted to have 'Kind of a Grand daughter before she died.

"Sherlock, I love you. I love your brother and your sister, your father. But, just between us, I'm proudest of you..." and the machine went flatline as she reached up and kissed him on the head.

Sherlock broke. Rosie waddled away from John and toward Sherlock's side. Sherlock froze when she hugged him. Sherlock smiled as he took her in his arms. H half her close. John walked over and knelt to the floor beside his chair. Sherlock held John tightly to him, crying on his shoulder. "How did you know?" He asked, choking on himself. "Euros told me," John hushed calmly. John strokes Sherlock's back.

John placed his left hand on Sherlock's right thigh and was comfortably stroking up with his thumb. Sherlock had his hand over John's. When they got back to the flat Sherlock lied down on the couch. Twenty minutes later, John put Rosie on his stomach playfully. "I'm running out to get you a treat. What do you want, food wise?" John asked. "Food? Food is boring." Sherlock muttered bringing his arms around Rosie as she began to fall asleep again. "But," He said, "Cigarettes. They would be nice..." John gave a look, but then he smirked and said, "As long as you don't smoke around her, 'Kay?" John turned for the door as Sherlock turned to look shockingly at him, "I didn't expect you to actually say yes," He said, half sitting up. "Well, I love you, and you're going through a rough time," John said, walking up to Sherlock, kissing him on his head, and leaving, promising his return would be quick.

John got back to the flat to find the both of them asleep on the couch. John smiled as he placed the bag on the ground and knelt down next to Sherlock and Rosie. This woke Sherlock into a grumpy stir. "What are you doing back so late?" He asked. "I had a row with the machines," John said, looking down half ashamed. Sherlock slowly nodded. "Come on, let's get you into bed," John said sweetly as he carefully pried Rosie from Sherlock's chest and placed her silently In her crib. He then, helped Sherlock up from the couch. Sherlock let his hand linger in John's. "Lay down with me?" Sherlock asked. John nodded and they went to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock flopped onto the bed, John followed the quieter route. They both got under the covers and John rolled over to cuddle Sherlock in a hug. That's how John fell asleep, with Sherlock holding him. Until...


	6. Frauds and Killers.

"London Police! Open up! We know you're in there, Sherlock!" 

A strong voice abruptly sounded from the doorway. Banging also was apparent. "John," Sherlock's gruff, tired, low voice was forced out of his throat. 

The door crashed to the ground.

John groaned as he blinked himself awake slowly. "People are here," Sherlock said. 

Greg looked at Rosie, his eyes wide, as he matched the yellow, spray painted smile on the wall and the red one carved into the child's otherwise perfect skin on her neck. "Oh, God, a kid?!" He loudly whispered. His eyebrows furrowed. He ordered someone else to look at the child as he held his gun up as he turned to an empty kitchen. "Clear,"

"Tell them to go away," John groaned as he rolled over and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and entangled their legs. "I'm still sleeping." 

Greg looked up and to the right. He heard voices, more than one, not just Sherlock's. He slowly stepped, laying his feet down with a careful precision, not trying to be loud. He slowly approached the door. 

"John, please, they've come to take me away." Sherlock said. A lower voice yawned, then groaned as he said, gruffly, "I won't let them," 'It's a man?!' Greg thought, 'Sherlock's in his room with a man?' He quickly banged on the door. "Sherlock, come out, hands where I can see 'em!" He shouted.

"Lestrade," Sherlock shouted through the door, "Go away!" Greg sighed, then raised his gun as he took a few steps back. 

That door went, too.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are put under arrest for capital murder of the first degree, the Kidnapping and harm of a miner, and holding..." Greg started, but once John quickly sat up, wide eyed and red faced, Greg furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to connect the dots. 

"Lestrade?!" John shouted as he sat up so quickly, if he weren't so embarrassed, he'd've been dizzy. There was an awkward silence between the three men. "Wait, did you say 'Kidnapping'?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence. John's eyes widened. He jumped out of bed and ran out of the bedroom shouting, "Rosie!" 

"When did... th-this... happen?" Greg asked gesturing to the bed. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We didn't have sex, Lestrade, but I can assure you that he's my partner, not yours. No need to get jealous over someone who doesn't even know you appreciate him." He said blatantly as he removed the sheets to get out of bed. 

John rushed to the common room. "Where is She?!" He asked someone. His hair was somewhat disheveled and his voice was gruff. Everyone could tell he had just woken up. "Watson?!" A familiar voice asked from in the kitchen. "Oh, God! This is too good!" He shouted as he bellowed over in laughter. "Serg.! Watson slept with the Freak!" Donavan began to laugh as well. John walked over and cornered Anderson. John picked him up by his bright blue stub outfit. He pinned him against the wall right beside the microwave. "Tell me where my bloody daughter is, or I swear to you, Anderson, you will definitely not be laughing when you're in the hospital." 

"Shit! That was your daughter?!" Anderson asked, before groaning as John shook him once, hitting his head against the wall. "Ugh! Downstairs! The housekeeper has her. She's being questioned," Anderson said. John let go of him and ran down the stairs. He sharply turned to the left and almost burst through the door, he was so worried. "Mrs. Hudson! Where's-" John started, but cut himself off as he saw a man in a suit holding his daughter. "Rosie!"

"How do you know it's me? Because I'm off-putting and nobody likes me?" Sherlock asked, brushing his curly hair. "We have pictures, surveillance videos, evidence, Sherlock. I didn't believe it at first, but it's all there." Greg explained, waiting. "And, What about 'my victim'; what did he do?" Sherlock asked, using air quotations for a brief moment before beginning to brush his teeth. "So, what? After you arrest me, put me away, you're going to try to get John to notice you?" Sherlock asked, leaning over the sink to spit the toothpaste out and rinse his mouth with water. "I never said that!" Greg shouted. "No, but you thought it. You think it quite often. Every time you see him, I am around him, he pays attention to me instead of you. How do we know that you're not just framing me?" Sherlock explained and asked as he strolled over to his closet. He opened it up and began skimming through the different shirts he could wear. 

"I am a police man, I don't break the law." Greg sternly said. "Oh? But you do let a Serial Killer into a crime scene, without being a part of the task force. You let a Sociopath into your precinct. What kind of morally stable man does that?" Sherlock asked, finally picking out a shirt. "Does this scream, 'I'm innocent this time!' To you?" Sherlock asked, then without Evernote letting Greg breath, he quickly said, "'don't care, wearing it anyway," 

"Give her to me. I'm her father," John explained. The man hadn't moved. "What are you, deaf? I said, 'I'm her father!'" John shouted, then abruptly turned, only to get a breath in before turning back and trying to calmly approach the man. "She's in danger by being in the presence of William Holmes." The man said in a monotone voice. "What are you talking about? Sherlock isn't someone to hurt others!!" John shouted again getting frustrated once more. "Just let me hold my child, please," John pleaded. The man didn't budge. "Uughhaaaaaagh!!" John groaned in frustration as he put a fist slowly to his forehead, shaking out of rage. 

"Lestrade!" Anderson said, popping his head into Sherlock's room. Greg looked at the man in scrubs. "The girl, she's Watson's daughter," He said, then disappeared from the room. Greg turned to Sherlock, who was buttoning up his purple shirt. "What?" He asked. "Obviously," Sherlock muttered. 

Sherlock was led to the police car and driven to the precinct for further questioning. John followed the cars down, only a bit too close behind the car with his daughter in it. When Sherlock arrived, there were cameras and press reporters outside more than ready to ask Sherlock questions about 'His Kills' and of there were more. 

In the precinct, Sherlock walked past all of the scowls of the building. John had to face a similar situation when he walked down after the man holding his daughter, keeping him from her. Everyone had been smirking, snickering, and scowling disapprovingly at him. He guessed this was only a fraction of what Sherlock had ever experienced in his life. Although, Sherlock still had his head heals high. John wished he could be like that, but he was enclosed with his decision to ignore the sociable norm. And, his consequences of doing so.

John was also questioned. His only condition was that they'd let Rosie go and let John have her again. They agreed and handed her to John.

"Where were you last night at 21.45?" Greg asked. "I was in the hospital, visiting my currently late mother." Sherlock sighed, crossing his arms. "After that?" Greg asked. "Im shocked," Sherlock sarcastically gasped at Greg, "The super human, Graham Lestrade, doesn't give his condolences to someone who's experienced loss recently?" He asked with a slight smirk. "You're getting off on this, aren't you?" Greg sneered. "That's for me to know and you to find out," Sherlock smirked as he winked, "after all, you are the detective inspector, here, Lestrade," Greg groaned in disgust as he had to turn away from Sherlock, who was chuckling, amused with the reaction he got.

"After we left the hospital, we headed straight for Baker Street, where Sherlock and Rosie fell asleep on the couch. I went to the store to buy Sherlock some cigarettes, as kind of a reward for being so brave." John explained. "You left Sherlock alone with Rosamunde Mary Watson?" "God, why do you have to say the Middle name?" John muttered quickly before saying, "Yes, officer, I left them in the flat because she was asleep and putting a child to sleep after they've woken isn't as easy as it may seem," he said with a sarcastic smile and tone. "What happened after that? Don't leave anything out." The man asked. John groaned, knowing he thought the two of them had sex, which they hadn't. "I got home, woke Sherlock up, put Rosie in her crib, without waking her,- thank god- we snogged, and went to his bedroom where we cuddled and fell asleep." John said, flustered as all hell. 

"That's all?" "Yes, sir. I haven't hear anything rough up there, or I would have said so. Why are you not questioning about the murder? It seems you're stuck on the fact that they're gay," Mrs. Hudson said, then covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, lads. It seems I've caught some deducing thing. Whatever Sherlock has." She said. "Have you seen this man?" The man asked, showing a picture of a bright brown haired man with blue eyes and a slight scruff upon his chin. He had thin eyebrows and was wearing a black jumper with a red collar up shirt underneath. 

"He works the Sandwich shoppe under my flat, he caught Mrs. Hudson in a toxic love triangle, or rectangle, rather." Sherlock said honestly. Other than that, he's never seen that man and the man's seldom been a significant par of is life. 

"I think I've seen him working downstairs...?" John said, unsure about it. Once he got a longer look at the man, "Yep, he spilled coffee on me once." John scoffed as he turned up his nose to the picture.

Mrs. Hudson hesitated to answer. "We used to be an item, then Sherlock told me he was married." She said, her voice wavering in emotion. 

"That's not possible," Sherlock said as he watched the surveillance tape of 'Sherlock' walking into he store and shooting the man, leaving him there after carving a smile on his neck. "That's not me, I was with John." He said. "Then, prove it," Greg demanded. "The Video's very low quality; you can barely see the difference," 

"They walk completely different, Sherlock walks with a kind of confidence, that no one could ever imitate. It was windy and raining last night, but 'Sherlock's' collar's not turned up, he's readjusting his hair more often than Sherlock does. Sherlock only fluffs the top of his head, while this person is literally twisting the hair around and making sure the curls stay in place. The hair's a wig, he's not wearing his scarf, and Sherlock's not ambidextrous," John listed, with a monotonous voice as if he were bored. "That man is an extremely terrible Sherlock Holmes," 

"Oh, dear. The mess that man's created," Mrs. Hudson fussed. "That man is Sherlock, ma'am." The man said. "'Fraid not. Sherlock wouldn't be that messy with his experiments."

_________________________  
It took them a couple of hours to put what everyone shared together. Sure enough, though, John and Sherlock were let out after Mrs. Hudson has already gone home. 

"You're Lucky John found so many differences," Greg warned. "I guess because you two have a more profound bond than Mrs. Hudson and you, he caught on quicker. Get your things and get out; take a few days off. I don't want to see you this week. Nor John, understood?" Greg barked. Sherlock slowly nodded, feeling as if he were in a daze from that point to when Greg walked him outside, where John was waiting beside his car with Rosie already strapped into the seat. "Sherlock!!" John said as he ran up and hugged the taller man to the best of his ability. Sherlock snapped out of his daze when John and him embraced. He slowly brought his arms up to wrap them around John. 

John looked frantic as he patted up Sherlock's cheeks and ruffled his hair. "Are you okay? What happened? Hey, talk to me," John pleaded. Sherlock regained his composure. He didn't know what he was doing or saying, but he had. "It seems as though the only one who needs to talk is you, John." He said, harsher than John would've liked. John's hopeful smile faltered. Sherlock basically pried John from him and walked to his side of the car and sat in the seat.

"I told him not to do this; I told him, John." Greg said. John turned to face him. "I told him not to use all of his emotions for the first days, but he didn't listen. This is what he's usually like. I'm sorry that you fell in love with the extremely rare part of him." Greg said as he gave John a hug. A sudden honk sounded and startled them. John turned to see Sherlock leaning over toward the wheel. He leaned back in his seat with force. 

"Well, at least he will always know how to express Jealousy." Greg said. John awkwardly excused himself from Greg's painfully awkward and slow banter. Greg took a breath and said, "John, here!" Greg handed him a small piece of paper. John nodded as he shoved it in his pocket. John finally got into the car with Sherlock and turned on the radio as they backed out of the parking lot. 

Sherlock turned off the radio and placed his hands under his chin again. John sighed irritably as he drove home. 

Sherlock tried to go to his room as soon as they got home. They hadn't even taken off their shoes and coats. "Sherlock, Wait!" John said, grabbing Sherlock by the arm, stopping him from escaping the common area. "So, this is it? This is how it's going to be?" John asked, slightly saddened by his own question. Sherlock tilted his head. "Would you rather have it differently, John?" He asked. John slowly let go if Sherlock's arm, trusting he won't flee the second he got a chance. "Sherlock, are you done? Is this... over? Already?" John asked, trying to hold himself together long enough for him to escape if Sherlock says something that could break John's heart.

"Unless there was something that needed to be said..." Sherlock said, plainly before turning to go into his room. John needed to get out, needed to get away. He grabbed Rosie and walked out of the flat, leaving Sherlock to linger by his bedroom window wondering what he said wrong.


	7. Friends, Family, and the Watsons.

At the end of the week, Mycroft has woken up the Consulting Detective by entering his flat and almost kicking open the door. He was definitely angry. "Sherlock! Brother mine! Get your arse out here!" He shouted, losing his composure. Sherlock slowly stirred from his room. 

"What the hell!?" Mycroft asked as he gestured to Rosie, "John must've went to the store..." Sherlock muttered as he grabbed the box of wipes from the coffee table and a nappie. He quickly changed the child as Mycroft looked away. "Sherlock, there's a wake and funeral, today." Mycroft announced. "Why haven't I been informed before today?!" Sherlock asked. He threw away the old nappie. 

"Well, that's your fault, isn't it? Always keeping to yourself. How did you even know what was happening?" He asked. Sherlock looked up at him. "Euros told John and we went to visit in her last minutes," He said, his voice clouded by sadness for a moment. "John!? That man you've been sleeping with?! Sherlock, you know what'll happen when he finds out that you killed her, right?" Mycroft asked, leaning in. 

He was once again sitting in John's armchair and Sherlock had once more decided to bite his tongue. "He'll leave me, take Rosie... I know." He said, holding the child in his arms as she was drifting off into sleep once more. "Brother..." Mycroft started, "Are you actually, starting to fall in love with Watson? An officer who, might I remind you, is out for your head?!" He whispered loudly, as if someone were to be listening in on what they were talking about. "I'm pretty sure the scar up your arm can remind you well enough, that I do not need you babysitting me!" Sherlock shouted, but quickly hushed as Rosie began to twitch in his arms. "Now, I would like you to leave my residence, please." He said, straightening his posture. 

The door opened and the room quieted as John was entering the room, struggling with grocery bags and a slight scowl on his face. "I had a row with the machines. Hey, are you u-" he started to ask, but seeing as he was talking to Mycroft, he must've been. He frowned once more and most of the energy left in his body from shopping had just vanished. "Good Morning, Mycroft. I didn't expect you to be here." John said, wanting him to leave. Mycroft grinned. "Good Morning, John. How was, uh, Sarah, was it, last night?" He asked. John stopped in his tracks. Sherlock's head shot up to look at John, but as John refused to look him in the eye, Sherlock looked down at Rosie. "Well, Is better be going. I've got to get ready, and I'd expect you will be at the wake, John? You two are basically joined by the hip these days." Mycroft's smirk widened as he shook John's hand and walked out, grabbing the umbrella by the door. 

"Sarah's?" Sherlock asked, then nodded to himself. "Yeah, we put in a dvd and got takeaway." John said, picking the groceries from the bags and putting them in their spots. "There's a wake today?" John asked, closing the fridge door, but not daring to turn around. "Mm-hmm," Sherlock hummed. There was a silence before Sherlock spoke again. "You're being expected to come, too, apparently." John sighed. "Do you really want me to come?" He asked, turning to look at Sherlock, who was petting Rosie's hair. "Do you think I need you?" Sherlock asked, deepening his voice to hiss the hurt he felt about John visiting a woman's house last night. 

John walked over to pluck Rosie from Sherlock's arms and told him to get ready. "Are you going?" Sherlock asked, hesitantly rising from his chair, daring to get lost in the Officer/ Doctor's dark blue eyes. "You don't need me," He said. "If you have faith," Said Sherlock walking past John. "You idiot!" John shouted, putting Rosie in her play pen to run after him as he slowed by his bedroom door. John shoved him against the wall, holding Sherlock by his collar. "I'm not saying that I don't have faith in you, but that's not what I bloody meant!!" He shouted. "I'm confused," Muttered Sherlock, "Do you want to come, or not!?" Asked Sherlock, more Stern than last time. John's breathing gradually calmed as he let go of Sherlock and walked out to the sitting room to grab Rosie. "So...?" Sherlock trailed his question off as he heard John mutter to her, "Let's go, get ready." Sherlock smiled slightly to himself. 

He didn't take much time to get dressed, nor to try to tame his curls. He was sitting in his Armchair, texting Lestrade. 

"John cheated on me with Sara"  
"No, you broke up with him the day you got out of the station. He was pretty broken up about it."  
"Well, why not try to talk to me?"   
"Have you seen yourself that day? You were miserable! You wouldn't even verbalize your Jealousy."   
"Perhaps..."  
"So, John thought it best to try and discreetly make you jealous so that you'd take him back. But, his first attempt was last night, and he only sat with her to watch a movie."  
"He was out all night!"  
"I can assure you that nothing happened.."   
"Whatever! I've got a wake to get to,"  
"You have my condolences." 

Sherlock chuckled as he put his phone in his pocket. "Man, I haven't worn this in years!" John sighed as he walked in wearing his army ACU's. "No," Sherlock said, standing up, "Change, please." John's eyebrows furrowed. "I'd be honoring your mother by wearing this to her wake. Why shouldn't I?" He asked. Sherlock closed the space between the two of them, snaking his hand around John's lowers waist, tucking it into Johns back pocket. He gave the Army doctor's ass a brief grope as he surprised John with a kiss. "If not, I'll be feeling you up all day long," Sherlock warned. "In front of your dead mum?" John asked, sounding disgusted in Sherlock's motives as he pushed on his chest. 

"My sister's probably going to be all up on her new boyfriend, Jim. I only see it to be fair," Sherlock sneered. "If I wear Civilian clothing, will you refrain from sexual Physical contact?" John asked. "That would help, I suppose." Sherlock said, looking John up and down before licking his lips. This sent shivers down John's spine. "Fine, I'll change!" John groaned. As soon as he turned his back to Sherlock, the tall man gave a seductive slap to John's ass, making him jump. "Sherlock!? What's gotten into you?" John asked, hurrying to true room so he could get changed Alone. "I think I have a Military fetish..." Sherlock muttered. "You think!?" John shouted through the door. John slightly smirked as he now knew how to keep Sherlock looking at him.

The two  gave Rosie a very messy bath, got her dressed and packed up, and made it almost as soon as they allowed the body to be viewed. Mycroft had been talking to friends and family, even co workers came. Gave their condolences, then left. John was unbuckling Rosie from her seat, when he felt Sherlock lean against his back. "When we get home, we're going to talk about it, right?" Sherlock asked, bringing his hands up to wrap around John in a hug. John leaned back comfortably into Sherlock's arms. Slowly, he nodded. 

"John, Sherlock. Meet Jim Moriarty. My boyfriend." Euros's voice sounded from behind the two men. Sherlock immediately tensed up and let go of John to turn and face, "Hello, Sherly! So very nice to see you again. And, it seems as though, you've found a pet as well. Kudos!" The man smiled and waved. He then leaned a bit to the side and scrunched up his face in a playful smile as he waved to Rosie. John faintly smiled. 

"And I see as though, you've broken up with Molly Hopper..?" Sherlock asked. Jim nodded to himself. "Ah, yes. Well, you see. What happened was, she was far too upset that I almost blew you up the last time we've seen each other, which might I add, has been far too long." Jim added as he slightly bit his lip with a smirk, which made John uneasy. He grabbed the nappie bag from the back and slammed the door, interrupting their flirting session. 

'This was going to be a long day,' John thought as the two men had hardly stopped talking, or even separated from the two seats that were in the near back. "Why don't you sit up front, where you can see her?" John asked, leaning nearer to Sherlock, hoping for some kind of physical contact. They moved, but only to have the time ruined by the presence of a Jim Moriarty. 

Other members of Sherlock's family came and noticed he was sitting next to people. Talking to people. Smiling with people. A teenager girl walked up and smiled at him. "Is this your boyfriend, Will?" She asked, teasingly gesturing to Jim, who was sitting closer to him than John was. "Don't be daft, Annibelle! John is my partner." He said, resting his hand on John's hand, which was on his knee. "Can you hold Rosie? I need to find a Lou," John said, handing her over to the man he trusted with her most. "Of course, John." He smiled slightly as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. Jim leaned in after looking both ways to make sure nobody was listening in. "It's a shame about the sandwich shoppe beneath your flat, isn't it?" He asked. "How do you know about that?" Sherlock asked harshly. "Well, according to your boyfriend, Jonny boy, I make a rubbish Sherlock Holmes," He said, standing up and walking out of the room. 

After the very long and boring service true pastor had prepared, Sherlock decided to pay his respects to his mother. He originally wasn't going to do it, feeling the faintest of confidence in himself to not go all Detective on his mother's body. But, as soon as he came into eye shot of the skin on her arms, words came flooding through. Words everywhere. Memories. Words that trigger memories. Good... memories, even. 

"Hello, mother." Sherlock said, lowly trying to control his voice from trembling. "I'll cry, you know? When you go. I've never really cried over someone before. Other than Ivan, of course. You helped me with that. I'm afraid, you cant really help me his time, I suppose. You were an amasing mother. The best one a group of murderous children could ask for," Sherlock chuckled. He briefly looked down to fix his coat, to look back to his mother. "John was about to wear his ACU's. I made sure he changed, though. I know how you don't like the fact that I like Military Uniforms." He chuckled again, this time, it took him longer to think of another topic to talk about. "Why am I talking to you? You're dead, gone, no longer in coherence with your body. As if you can hear me... If there is a god, mum, tell him to treat you nicely. If not, I'm going to climb out of hell and give him a piece of my mind." Sherlock choked up on the last couple of hushed words. He gave an awkward pat to her cold arm, then turned on his heel and rushed himself past John and out of the large room.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked. He was standing outside the Lou with Rosie in his arms. He was bouncing her up and down so she wouldn't make a fuss. "Rosie misses you, Sherlock." He said, switching her from one hip to the other. "John, could We go home, now?" He asked through the door. John didn't take another moment of thought, before responding, "If that's what you want, that's what'll happen," He decided. 

Someone walked by John and muttered, "Like spoiling a child; it sickens me," John sharply turned his head to see Euros walking beside Jim, who had turned his head to smirk back at John. Rosie then burst into tears, surprising John. He urged Sherlock to hurry, saying Rosie was being impatient. 

When John, Sherlock, and Rosie got home, Sherlock kept his coat on. "We just got back, where do you think you're going?" John asked, slightly irritated. "Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me, John!" Sherlock remembered as he gave a quick appreciative kiss to John's forehead before running back to his bedroom to dig out a black bag. He raced out and stopped at that door in front of John. He pat himself down to make sure he had everything he needed. Just as he Was starting for the door, John grabbed his arm. "Where do you think you're going, Sherlock?" John asked, slower and sterner than before. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I won't be home tonight, so it'll be okay if you invite, what's her face, Sarah, over. Just don't use our bed," Sherlock frowned. John raised his eyebrows. "As Long as there's an our bed, I won't be inviting anyone else over, I can assure you that." He said, smiling warmly. "Right, Well. See you," Sherlock quickly ripped his arm from John's grip and walked out of the door. John scowled. 

Even though he said he wouldn't be home that night, Sherlock arrived pretty late. Just after he hung his coat and scarf up, Sherlock turned to see a figure down the hall, walking sloppily. "Sherlock...? You said you wouldn't be home. Is everything alright?" John's voice was groggy and tired. Sherlock nodded. "Yeah, just. I came down sooner than expected, so..." He trailed his words off as the light turned on. John walked up and looked at him closely. "Pupils still dilated. You got high, didn't you?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "You are aware that I did warn you that I am a user, have I not? And, I didn't use in front of Rosie, so that's good, right?" Sherlock asked. John sighed and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss. "I'm glad you're safe. I get worried, is all." He said, pulling Sherlock into he bedroom to cuddle. 

John fell asleep faster than he'd expected. Sherlock stayed awake, thinking about what he'd actually done. He smirked as he, himself began to drift off into sleep.


	8. Last Friday Night,

Sherlock Hailed a cab to the Precinct, where he pulled out a pair of stray keys from his pocket. He plugged in the pieces of metal and opened the door to a car that was taken into evidence a few months ago. Sherlock had been using it secretly ever since It's been brought in. He snatched the spare keys off of Anderson's desk, so if anything did pop up, they'd all blame Anderson at first. That would give him enough time to figure out what to do.

He drove to the abandoned cabin where he would have his crime victim. He prepared the pictures and plastic wrap and all of his tools to do the dirty deed. Sherlock was positive That's was fully prepared for his misfortunate visitor. He smirked to himself as he left the scene well hidden still, to drive to their house.

Sherlock parked outside. He made his way inside pretty easily, he didn't believe it at first. He carefully made his way to the lonely man's bedroom. The man was a cabby, who had three confirmed victims, but because he's being sponsored to kill to increase his last will & testimony's funds, who knows how much he's done?

Sherlock quickly jammed the needle of strong tranquillizers into the old man's neck. He carried the body as if the man were his drunk friend, as to not get any strange looks. Sherlock placed the old man in the back seat of the car. And, Sherlock drove on toward the Cabin. He opened the door and dragged the man out of his car through the dirt. Though, he slipped in a mud puddle and fell. His precious black coat was now dirty. His trousers were grossly muddied and his hands in his now wet gloves became cold. "Dammit!" He shouted, pounding his fists into the mud. He quickly calmed himself, giving himself a reminder that he had literally all night if he wanted to. He took a deep breath and continued on, smearing his foot in the puddle to rid it of any indents that may refer to his height or weight.

He waited for the man to wake up, which took a bit longer than he'd like it to. Sherlock was pacing around, looking at the infuriating taunting the yellow smiley face was doing on the wall. 'Acting so posh,' Sherlock thought, 'You remind me of,' He swiftly pulled it his gun, just as the old man was beginning to stir. "MYCROFT!" He shot three rounds into the wall, surprising the man with a shriek of fear. "Oh, hello,"

"What am I doing here?" He asked. "Dying, obviously," Sherlock said, running a gentle blade against the man's cheek. He watched methodically as he placed the plastic blaster against the man's skin to squeeze and collect the blood trickling down with his tears. "Stop crying. You might've messed up my trophy. Then, I'd have to do it again," Sherlock warned as he squeezed precisely and a droplet of the thick red bodily fluid fell against a glass slide, and Sherlock smiled wickedly as he pressed a second thin plate of glass against the slide, holding it above the elderly man's face for him to watch.

"You're Right, I did kill them," He admitted. "Oh, I know that I'm right; I'm always right. But I just need to ask, because, you have kids, don't you?" Sherlock asked, unwrapping a Lollie and tossing the trash to the floor, chuckling at the thought of Lestrade and his crew having a field day over that one meaningless wrapper. "I have a little girl, smaller than ever, but gorgeous all the same. Okay? I need to know how to be a good dad, I mean, my partner is pretty well fit for the job but, you know. I want to prove to him I can be a human, too." Sherlock explained. "Well, just do what you can do, I suppose," The man said, "That'd be better than what I did to my kids. I left their mom-" "No, you didn't," Sherlock interrupted. "She got a divorce for you because you're a poor man who's dying. Aneurysm. They told you three years ago. That's why you're killing, isn't it, old man? To please your sponsor?" He deduced.

Sherlock spent another five minutes on interrogation, then he let the fun begin. He began to drill and saw at the cabbie's limbs, tearing them away from the body with a very precise slice. He was very happy and relaxed about his work. He left his signature smile on his neck. He'd make sure to cut off all of the meat from the bones and separated them accordingly.

Sherlock packaged up the muscles from the body parts and tied up the bags. He opened the hatch to the pens on a nearby farm and threw the meat out to the animal fields for when they come out to graze. After he got back to the cabin, he burned the blood covered plastic wrap in the back bonfire but put the bones into the incinerator in the cellar.

Sherlock looked at his watch and sighed as he finished a lot earlier than he'd anticipated. He supposed he could shoot up, only enough for John not to get suspicious. He got changed back into his day clothes. His coat was still in the dryer. He sat in a corner and pulled up his sleeve. He tied a short piece of thinned out rope around his upper arm, right above the elbow joint. Sherlock held still as the point of the syringe poked its way under his skin. He pushed the bottom in, injecting himself with the high inducing drug.

He then spent an hour in his mind palace. When he's come down a bit, he stood to grab his coat from the dryer. He gathered his recently cleaned equipment and left the cabin, locking the doors. He drove back to the precinct and dropped off the car just as he'd found it. He hailed a cabby home and welcomed himself back early.

"G'night, Love."


End file.
